An Understanding Untold
by MorganRay
Summary: Hermione is the girl that wants to understand, and life in and outside of Hogwarts is lived through her eyes. How does she feel about her parents? This is Hermione outside of Harry's eyes, this is the story of the girl that understood. HG & RW
1. Old Parchment

(A/N: I've been trying for some time, waiting for inspiration, to write a Harry Potter fanfiction. Well, the little video parody by Katie, the movie, and a little story on fanfiction helped me along. All in all, this goes out to Ashley, who is moving, and whom I will SORELY miss. She reminds me of Hermione. (Studying, stopping fights, always understanding first, and above all, not above her emotions) So, so long Ashley, and heres to Hogwarts: A Friendship, whose characters belong to ONLY Rowling, and not me, long with all those I mention in this story.)  
  
Hogwarts: A Friendship  
  
By MorganRay  
  
Chapter One: Old Parchment  
  
Dilapidated buildings blocked most of the golden sunrays from the inside of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Yet, some stray beams fell through scummy windows, in need of a cleaning, onto the warped floorboards, straying across a stack of new books, quite out of place in the shabby room.  
Long, copper brown locks fell into the face of the girl sorting through this horde of books. She quickly alphabetized them, by author, before packing them down into one of her trunks. Deep, piercing brown eyes searched over her room, making sure she hadn't forgot one. Along with the books, she'd throw in a role of parchment or two that she'd kept notes on.  
Her detail extended to her school wardrobe of black, gray, and beige skirts, although today she wore jeans and a polo shirt. She carefully packed her knee high socks and crisp, white blouses. Carefully polished black shoes sat on the floor, ready to be placed on the books, and a pile of freshly folded robes to be placed on those.  
Hermione paused, for a brief second, hearing frantic steps in the hall. The door burst open as Ron Weasley entered, Hogwarts robes in a wrinkled mess in one hand, the binding of a book in the other. "Hermione, help me pack!" His blue hazel eyes pleaded with her brown ones.  
"Honestly, Ron, you're almost sixteen, why can't you do this?" Rolling her eyes, Hermione marched Ron down the hallway.  
The little golden rays of light revealed a disheveled room, almost as grungy as the ancient house. Piles of ripped, food stained parchment laid piled around the unmade bed. Piles of socks, shirts, jeans, and a bundle of robes and sweaters lay piled in heaps near the trunk with rusted metal holding it together.  
"Okay, you fold these," Hermione threw Ron part of the clothes heap. "I'll put your books and that glob of parchment in order." Hermione briskly made for the parchment, afraid most of the underwear might not be clean.  
She grabbed old essays, notes, and tons of parchment filled with Ron and Harry's tic-tac-toe games. She began pitching. "Hermione! Why are you throwing those away?"  
"They're worthless, Ron," she tucked her hair futilely behind her ears before it fell in her face again.  
"They're priceless parts of history," Ron sulked from the clothes blob.  
"They're tic-tac-toe games," Hermione pitched the last one. "Don't worry, I saved your essays."  
"Oh, you can toss those," Ron shrugged, trying to match his socks. Hermione began on another clot of paper. Half afraid to find rats in this one, she poked it first. When nothing attacked, she dug head first, finding more tic-tac-toe games.  
"Can you throw anything away, honestly?" Hermione muttered to herself. Plenty of Chocolate Frog cards and wrappers got mixed into the mess, and she promptly disposed of those.  
"My cards!" Ron raced towards the trashcan, fishing out his cards. "You monster, you threw away my chocolate frog cards!" Ron's face contorted in unbelievable horror.  
"They're worthless, Ron, and at least I'm a clean monster," Hermione picked up an aged piece of parchment. For Ron's standards, it was in good condition. She unfolded it, squinting at faint ink lines.  
"Umph!" Hermione toppled back as Ron yanked the paper away. "What was that for? I was looking at that."  
"It's mine, and you should keep your nose out of my stuff," Ron pulled the paper close like a pet. He stroked it, glaring at Hermione.  
"If you want to get packed, your stuff is my business!" Hermione clenched her fists, standing up. The blood rushed to her cheeks, as she became thoroughly frustrated.  
"Get off!" Ron took a step back, tripping over the trashcan. Hermione lunged at the paper, falling over Ron. She dug her short nails into the paper. In one swift moment, she tugged it from his grip, rushing down the stairs. "HERMIONE!"  
Ron took the stairs three at a time, jumped the last four, and caught Hermione scrambling around the staircase. He pounced at her legs, tripping her in mid-flight. Hermione's body collided with the doxy eaten rugs. Ron climbed over Hermione's legs, grasping for the paper.  
"Give it back!" Ron ripped the unfurled paper away from Hermione.  
"Get off!" Hermione craned her neck around, coughing up dust. "Ron!" Realizing he was in a provocative position, Ron stumbled off Hermione. "I swear, Ron . . ."  
"Ronald, what's going on?" The slightly chunky Mrs. Weasley, sweat all over her face, stormed out of the kitchen. Her cheeks, ruddy from working none stop in the basement kitchen, were accented from yelling at Ron.  
"Mum, we're just . . ."  
"Packing, Mrs. Weasley, it's just that . . . we played a quick game of tag," Hermione stammered, slightly blushing as she smoothed her polo shirt. "I was helping Ron pack."  
"Good," Mrs. Weasley smiled, already going back to the kitchen. "Good girl, Hermione, and Ronald, don't you give her trouble!"  
They ascended the stairs, Ron giving Hermione squinty death looks. Back in Ron's room, where the mess had barely improved, Hermione shut the door. She paused, checking for any Extendable Ears. "Ron, you drew that?"  
Ron's freckled face looked like a tomato's cousin. He stuffed the paper in his tattered jean pocket. "Y-yes, but only in my first year," Ron stuttered. He quickly turned, trying to fold a shirt.  
"Ron, that's better than I've ever drawn in my whole life," Hermione stood fixed by the door. She took a step towards Ron. "Ron, you're not folding that right."  
Proceeding to fold the shirt, Hermione left Ron gazing at his feet. "Hermione, don't tell anyone 'bout that, okay?" Ron's face flushed again. "Please?"  
"Ron, it's lovely!" Hermione held out her hand, now free of the shirt, for Ron's paper. He handed the crumpled piece of paper to her. She unfolded it, staring at the sketchy, remarkably similar cartoon figures of Harry, Ron, and herself.  
"It's nothing," Ron snatched it back. "I've done better, really. I've always wanted to paint a picture, in the castle." At this, Ron hung his head to keep Hermione from noticing his crimson completion.  
"I barely draw stick figures," Hermione laughed, plopping down the tangled blankets. "Really, Ron, it's beautiful, especially if you did it during the first year."  
"It's nothing compared to all those O.W.L.S. you'll be getting," Ron sank down beside Hermione. "I'm lucky if I can take a N.E.W.T. class."  
"You can always be an artist," Hermione folded another shirt compulsively. "You're good enough."  
"What do you want to be?" Ron fixed his eyes on Hermione's. With a frown, and a bite of her lip, Hermione took extra long in folding the shirt.  
"I don't know, Ron," she whispered, staring back at him. "I've been thinking about it forever, and I thought I knew, but I don't."  
Ron's jaw dropped. "YOU don't know?" Ron gaped as if staring at a corpse brought back to life.  
"Yes, Ron," Hermione smiled slightly at his stupid gaze. "Yes, Ron, I don't know. It's weird, to think our letters will be here in a couple days."  
"Yeah, a week and we'll be back on the train," Ron grinned, rubbing his hands in excitement. "More chocolate frogs."  
"Our sixth year, Ron," Hermione's melancholy sigh got Ron's attention. He snapped out of the chocolate frog reverie to gaze at the spacey stare of Hermione. Her vacant expression stared at some thing else, long in the past.  
"Do you remember when we first got our letters?" Hermione whispered, remembering the day quite well herself. Ron paused, thinking of the day the pack of Weasley letters smacked into the window with Errol. He smirked.  
"Oh yeah," Ron nodded, and Hermione sighed. Thus, had begun their adventure, when Hermione didn't want one, and Ron yearned for one.  
  
(A/N: Okay, well, I reposted this chapter, to fix mistakes, and change the title from RON AND HERMINE to HOGWARTS: A FRIENDSHIP. Okay, same story, exciting title. So, what do you think? Thanks as always, MorganRay.) 


	2. Unexpected Expectations

(Once again, I do not own any characters. J. K. Rowling has never elaborated on Hermione's parents, so their characters may be different than what she may write them as in the future. Therefore, I hesitate to own them.)

Chapter Two: Unexpected Expectations

Five years ago, in the mid-hours of the morning, a girl with coppery brown hair woke up in her family's elegant Victorian house. Similar, yet worlds apart from the girl in Grimmauld Place, both in appearance and mannerisms, she stroked the yellow tabby that leapt up on her bed.

"Morning Abby," Hermione let the cat purr and rub against her. The old cat, bought when Hermione was two, lay down, dozing off in the sunlight. Hermione hopped out of bed, wondering if breakfast was ready, deciding she could use some eggs and waffles.

Walking down the oak staircase quietly in her shag slippers, the little girl in the cotton nightgown entered the spacious kitchen. Her parents adored the house, inheriting it from her grandfather, and they changed it as little as possible. However, the kitchen was gutted, and now, a meticulously white, clean kitchen, complete with marble countertops and modern muggle appliances, took its place.

"Mum, what's for breakfast?" Hermione asked and walked over to a drawer, pulling out three sets of silverware. She proceeded to properly set the table, even though it was a quaint family breakfast.

"Eggs, bacon, and scones," the thin, tall woman with the same hair as her little daughter leaned over the sterling stove. On her bony nose rested a tiny pair of rimless spectacles. Her eyes displayed precise intelligence, mimicked in her daughter. "Go fetch your father, Hermione."

The girl calmly walked to the study, where a man in his mid-forties leaned over a heaping pile of books and papers. His eyes perused a large stack of documents, while he scribbled away, already at work, even though it was a Saturday. He, too, wore a pair of spectacles, but only when he read in his study.

"Father, it's time for breakfast," the maturity of the eleven year old girl would have astounded anyone else. Her father, however, nodded, running his hand through his thinning, gray hair, and rose from his desk.

"How is my Hermione?" His voice conveyed a weary tenderness. The girl smiled, leading him into the kitchen.

"Fine," the girl said as she seated herselfas her mother placed breakfast in front of her. "I slept well, even though there was a storm last night."

"School is coming," Hermione commented, and her motherglanced up at her husband, smiling to his daughter's little comment.

"Hermione, where should we be sending her? The decision has to be made, Albert," Elise Granger stated, as if they'd drug their feet for a while on this topic.

"Elise, not now, I've got a whole several hours worth of finances to do," he said wearily and placed more bacon on his plate. "She's got tons of offers, and they'll take them for about another two weeks, and any school would be a fool not to let her in."

"You don't worry about her education enough," the woman's pale lips narrowed in response, her eyes narrowing slightly. Hermione watched, without missing a meaning ora look on her parent's features.

"I give her books, the girl reads newspapers, Elise, she's well informed," he reached for some more eggs, and poured himself a glass of orange juice. "Really, Hermione is fine, aren't you, dear?"

He smiled at his little daughter, and a look of complete adoration for her father beamed in her eyes.

"I want to stay close to you, Daddy."

"Please, Hermione," her mother sighed and threw her arms up in exasperation. "The best schools are in London, overseas! Stop this childish nonsense."

"She's eleven, Elise, don't forget," Albert turned towards his wife. "She's still only a child."

"It's time for her to go to a boarding school, like she should have done two years ago when her education reached this level," both of the Granger parents locked into a battle of stares and words.

"She needed to stay at home. It's not healthy to send children away at that age, even if they are two grades levels ahead," Albert Granger said shortly.

"Exactly, two grades levels ahead," the woman's eyes became narrower. "I let you hire the tutor for two years, Albert, but it's time she leaves! A decision must be reached!"

"Well, let Hermione decide." Albert Granger relaxed, answering like one who'd cornered an animal in a trap. Elise's eyes widened, her face contorted in anger for a second, and then, in a stiff mask of indifference.

"Okay, Hermione, what do you want?" She barely got the words out to the quiet girl, who'd stopped eating to watch her parents argue. They always fought about trifling things, but this was a rare occasion, to hear them argue over her, and in front of her.

"Can I decide in a few days, after I look through the letters again?" Hermione whispered, pleading with her mother. Elise sighed, nodding in submission, knowing her daughter's love for her father.

"Aye, that's a good girl," her father gave her the orange juice, but Hermione refused. "Elise, you should eat some more, you've hardly touched the food." His wife gave him an indignant smile, taking her plate over to the sink.

"I'll go to my room, to dress," Hermione said hastily and exited the room, reading the obvious anger in her mum's features. She feared her mother when her mood became irritable, when it wore at her father's nerves.

She jumped into the shower, and then blow-dried her hair into a frizzy mess, which bothered her, but she didn't have time to care about it. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a button-up shirt, Hermione brushed her teeth. Grabbing a pair of socks, she walked down to take Abby out.

She fed the cat, letting her roam out in their yard for a while. "Hermione, if that cat runs away while on a venture in the yard, don't say I never warned you," her mother's voice came from behind her. She started, running outside, leaving the door open, to catch Abby.

Reaching the end of their little paved driveway, she scoped up her old tabby. She headed back to the pale blue Victorian house with white trim, her mother waiting on the porch. "Here's the letters," she handed a bulging stack of acceptance letters to various prestigious academies to Hermione. "Read them."

She walked with heavy steps towards her room, knowing her mother's wish to send her away couldn't be postponed. Truly, it was all for education, but Hermione felt differently, even though she knew this. Her mother's wish seemed like pure hatred towards her only child, which made no sense, having no other children.

Stop this nonsense, Hermione told herself. She only wants what's best for you. But so did her dad. She gazed at the huge pile of papers, beginning to read each letter carefully. She paused, hearing her mother's light, but pronounced steps on the stairs.

"Another letter, from a place we didn't even apply to," a smug smile came over her lips. "You're quite a brilliant child, don't waste your talent."

Hermione swallowed, opening the envelope, addressed to Number Eight, Durfold Drive. Written in shimmering green ink, the letter read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_Of _WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY  
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Wugwump,  
International Confed. Of Wizards) _

Dear Miss Granger:  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.  
Yours Sincerely,  
_Minerva McGonagall_  
Deputy Headmistress

"Mum," Hermione gawked at the letter. What was this? What did this mean Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? Mrs. Granger plucked the letter out of Hermione's weak grasp. She read it once and then twice, lettering her lips purse up in that tight look of disdain.

"It's a hoax," she whispered. "It has to be. What a preposterous letter!"

A loud rap at the door made both of them start. Hermione jumped out, racing towards the door. She whipped it open in a quick movement, expecting to see maybe the Headmaster on the other side.

She wasn't disappointed. On the other side of the door stood a stern looking woman with eyes and a nose similar to Elise Granger's features. Instead of Elise's stylish rimless glasses, a pair of square spectacles sat on her nose. Hermione thought her long, emerald robe was peculiar, but she couldn't take her eyes off the woman's face.

"Did you send the letter?" Hermione blurted out the question. On her unmovable face, her lips upturned a little.

"Yes I did, Miss Granger," the woman stepped inside, shutting the door. "I trust you've received it?"

"Yes, I was just wondering, is it real, but you're real, so maybe the letter is real?" Hermione asked. The woman nodded, looking up as Mrs. Granger hurried down the winding staircase. Albert Granger came to the door on hearing a guest's voice.

"You are?" Elise arrived first. She stared at the woman, still clutching the letter.

"Professor McGonagall," McGonagall extended her hand to Mrs. and Mr. Granger. Albert seemed thrilled, while Elise eyed her up, suspicious of her dress. It wasn't everyday someone in a pointed hat and emerald cloak visited.

"You did send the letter," Hermione gasped, suddenly knowing beyond shadow of a doubt that the letter was real.

"Letter?" Albert gazed at the three women. Elise thrust the letter at him, and he read it several times, becoming even more astounded each time. "My, well, oh my! I must say, explain?"

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is the most prestigious school for magic in the entire world," McGonagall locked eyes with Mrs. Granger. Hermione gasped again at hearing the word prestigious. "We've had an eye on your daughter for some time, and it's been decided she's qualified to attend."

"There's no, pardon me, witches in our family," Mr. Granger laughed nervously. True, Hermione had never heard of witches and wizards, certainly in her family!

"True, your family is pure Muggle, which is none magical people. However, once in a great while, Muggle families produce magical children." Hermione heard her mother snort, and her heart sank. Nothing swayed the look in either woman's eyes, however. "Wizarding children from Muggle families are identified by exceptional intelligence, and usually some small strokes of magic, which are undetectable to most."

"I've done magic!" Hermione squeaked. "I've never remembered doing it."

"No, you wouldn't have," Mrs. Granger narrowed her eyes as McGonagall continued. "You'd always change the music in your music box, and your stuffed animals would become books."

"Well, I always remembering wanting books when I was bored," Hermione thought hard about what she said. Yes, she'd quickly tire of the same old song the ballerina would dance to. She'd open the box every time, hoping it would change when she could barely walk. Soon, it started to change, and this pleased Hermione greatly. She blushed, realizing that was her first memory.

"Nonsense," Elise spat. McGonagall locked her eyes again, similar to what Albert did at breakfast.

"Your daughter has a lot of talent, Mrs. Granger, a shame if she were to waste it."

The room when quiet. Elise's face turned slightly pale, visibly startled by her own words from McGonagall's lips. Albert rubbed his hands together, trying to break this scene.

"Well, how about tea?" He gestured everyone to the sitting room. "Elise, put on a spot of tea, dear?"

In a trance like state, Elise walked to the kitchen, doing her husband's bidding. Albert sat down, opposite McGonagall, as Hermione quietly sank into a chair near her father.

"Well, what would she learn?" Mr. Granger rubbed his hands together nervously.

"All the main magical subjects, everything she'll need to be a functioning witch," McGonagall stared curiously around the room before answering the question. "Transfiguration, which I teach, Potions, Charms, Herbology, History of Magic, and Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Is that so?" Mr. Granger's eyes widened. "Sounds exciting."

"Your daughter is perfectly able to take the classes. From what I've seen and read, she's brilliant, and should do well," Hermione blushed at McGonagall's comment. This woman, so stern, and a teacher, said she was brilliant! Having a teacher compliment on her, especially one who'd never had her, always thrilled Hermione.

"Yes, our Hermione has gotten stacks of offers to academies." Mr. Granger commented as Elise walked in with four cups of tea. Surely, Hermione mused, this school couldn't be terrible if this woman taught there? If the school were anything like her, I'd be positively wonderfully hard!

"I want the best for her," Mrs. Granger faced McGonagall, barely lettering her take a sip of tea. McGonagall nodded, sipping her tea anyway.

"I assure you, no student has ever thought Hogwarts too easy, and we make it so it never will be," McGonagall replied.

"This Headmaster, how stands his record?" Mrs. Granger shot another question. McGonagall smiled at this, holding out her hand for the letter.

"In our world, he's the best, very distinguished," McGonagall said as Elise read the letter again. "The letter lists all his titles, but he's done a considerable amount more. Hogwarts is the safest place in the world with Albus Dumbledore as Headmaster."

"You and Albert were discussing subject matter," Elise began again. "Are all the teachers reliable?"

"Quite so. All of our teachers have had plenty of experience in their subject, and using it practically, in the magical world," Hermione felt her blood pump hard. This was all a studious girl could want.

"Why don't we hear of this magical world?" Albert asked the question this time. "That you have schools that aren't known seems a bit peculiar."

"We take great care to hide ourselves, or else everyone would want a magical answers to their problems," McGonagall replied. "Some who interact with Muggles let their magical abilities go to their heads," a definite frown came over her face. "It's for our safety and yours."

"I see," Elise mused. "Hermione, wash out the cups and saucers, dear." Quite disappointed at being cut out, she obeyed anyway. Her mother wanted to talk about something serious, she could tell. So, leaving the water running Hermione crept in hearing distance of the conversation.

"Will that happen to Hermione?" Elise whispered.

"No, it happens to some, but I see no cause to be worried about Hermione. This is why we have Defense Against the Dark Arts, so when there is a malevolent wizard or witch, your child can defend herself," McGonagall whispered.

"If she goes, what about us?" Elise's voice was barely audible. "We're not supposed to know about this world, correct?"

"If you tell no one, you may know," McGonagall's voice dropped lower than her mother's.

"However, if you tell a soul, your memory will be modified so you never remember Hermione."  
Hermione covered her mouth, muffling her gasp. How terrible! She tried to still her pounding heart, desperately wanting to hear more. "Also, if Hermione is expelled, we'll modify all your memories so that none of you remember. All that will happen is Hermione will be behind in her education."

Hermione squeaked, and the conversation stopped. She quickly went back to turn off the water. The second option, in her opinion, was even more horrible! She'd forget everything she learned! Being expelled and years behind in her education was more unbearable than her parent's totally forgetting her.

"Well, Hermione," her mother's voice softened, yet was still crisp. "I told you, you may go where ever you choose. I trust you heard every word McGonagall told us?"

"Yes," Hermione could barely speak. Her father looked absolutely shaken, wringing his hands until his knuckles were white. "I want to go. I'll promise I'll be good."

"It's unlikely a girl with a record like yours would get expelled," McGonagall stood up. Again, her lips turned up slightly. "I'll inform the Headmaster of your decision. Here's directions to the Leaky Cauldron, a terribly rundown little inn, but I'll meet you there, a week from now, on July Thirtieth. I'll take you where you can buy all Hermione's supplies."

"Do you use the same currency?" Hermione frowned, finding it odd wizards would use pounds or Euros.

"No, but our money is worth more than Muggle money, so bring extra," they escorted McGonagall to the door. "It's been a pleasure."

With that, the door was shut behind the stern Professor. Hermione's head swam with intense burning to learn everything talked about. She quickly bounded up to her room, not missing her parent's exchange one of their looks.

(A/N: Please review! This may be my best work, to date. Thanks, MorganRay)


	3. No Chores

(Again, I own NONE of these characters. J.K. Rowling does. This is just a little spin on Ron's first letter.) Chapter Three: No Chores  
It was one of those mornings when the sun stayed behind a veil of gray clouds. However, it gave the day a misty, gray light to distinguish it from night. This morning, in a tiny room cramped full of Chudley Cannon posters, Ron Weasley rolled out of bed.  
He belly smacked the floor, a pile of dirty socks dampening the thud. "Oh," Ron groaned. This was it, he'd really fallen off the broom! No, wait, Ron stood up realizing the dream. He'd had it thousands of times, falling off a broom, but he believed he'd really done it.  
He'd never road a broom, so how could he fall off one? Hearing the call of his stomach, Ron lumbered down the crooked, uneven steps. He breathed deep the scent of sausage, pancakes, bacon, and eggs. This gave Ron the energy to run the whole way to the worn kitchen table. Charlie and the twins were awake, seated around the table, watching Mrs. Weasley cook.  
"Morning," Charlie yawned as Ron pulled up a chair. He was visiting from Romania, which put Mrs. Weasley in a better mood, knowing her son was with her, not chasing dragons. "What part of the house fell in?"  
"Fell out of bed," Ron yawned, running his fingers through messy, bright orange locks of hair.  
"Did Ronny hurt himself?" Fred began to inspect Ron's elbow. "Ah, Mum, he bruised his arm! Call Saint Mungos!"  
"Get off!" Ron pulled away as Fred and George burst into snickers.  
"You should put up the levitating mattress again, Mum," George looked over at Ron with a wicked grin. "Remember the mattress, Ron?"  
Ron groaned, remember Mum having fits about him. 'You're going to crack open your head!' she'd yell. So, the mattress was laid on the floor beside the bed. When he rolled out, it'd bounce him into the air.  
"And you'd wake up," George smirked. "And start balling because you were in mid-air!"  
"Yeah, and I'd always have to put you back on the ground," Charlie laughed. "You used that until last year, huh, Ron?"  
"I thought ickle Ron was becoming a big boy?" Fred messed up Ron's already messy hair.  
"He is," Mrs. Weasley replied from the stove. "He's stopped wetting the bed three years ago. Cleans better house than either of you boys." "Ronnie is so feminine," Fred began to wipe the table with the bottom of his shirt. Ron punched his brother on the shoulder. Suddenly, something tickled Ron's feet, something tickled up his ankle!  
"Spider!" Ron jumped on the chair. Fred and George hollowed. Charlie stepped on the tiny daddy log leg. Ron flushed red, crawling off the chair.  
"Ronald, honestly, it's as big as a pinkie nail," Mrs. Weasley kept cooking all the while. "Fred! George! This early? Don't give me a headache before noon today."  
"Gotta get started early, Mum," Fred tipped back in his chair. "Aye, George?"  
"Aye," George mimicked his brother's motions. They both leaned back on two chair legs, letting the kitchen have a few moments rest. That is, until a loud thud on the window made Ron start.  
"Errol," Charlie walked outside, collecting the scrawny, disheveled owl from the ground. "Hey, this worthless bird brought something worthwhile."  
"Hogwarts!" Fred and George grabbed their letters, popping them open. "Ah, the usual blah, blah, blah, but Mum, they added some new books. Probably a new teacher again."  
"Aye," Charlie nodded, sitting down, placing Percy's letter across the table. Ron noticed one more left in his hand. His eyes widened, realizing it was his first Hogwart's letter!  
"Mine!" Ron's squeaked made Mrs. Weasley look up. Charlie grinned as Ron ripped the paper into more pieces than either Fred or George.  
"Bless me, it is about time," Mrs. Weasley smiled at her littlest son. "Ronny, you're growing up so fast."  
"Ah, you never say we're growing up at all," George grinned. "I think she's implying something, Fred."  
"Time you should start," Mrs. Weasley sighed at her twin sons. She kept her eyes on Ron as he read the letter several times, to make sure it was real.  
"Mum, I'm going!" Ron never remembered feeling happier. He'd watched all his brothers go to Hogwarts. He endured them blabbering about it, taunting him with how great the grand hall and the Quidditch teams were.  
"Of course you're going," Mrs. Weasley started to cook again. "No chores today, since it's your first letter."  
"Weasley tradition," Charlie nodded at his little brother. His eyes spaced out, and Ron watched as he grinned, reminiscing about his times at Hogwarts. "You'll make the Weasley name proud."  
"Fred, he'll probably be in Gryffindor," George frowned at his brother. "You realized we'll have another family twit on our hands?"  
"I'm not a twit!" Ron yelped. The twins nodded in unison.  
"He won't pass the test to get in," Fred whispered to George so no one else could hear them. "Half our class couldn't get past that blasted troll."  
"Tr . . ."  
"Fred! George! Quite mumbling about all the trouble you're going to cause!" Mrs. Weasley kept cooking away, sorting through the rest of the mail at the same time. "Go get rid of those garden gnomes!"  
"Mum," George groaned. They both stood up, walking out to the garden. Ron could still feel his heart beating too hard. A troll! How was he supposed to face a troll? Oh course, it was Fred and George who said this, but they whispered it!  
"Ron, how about, oh," Mrs. Weasley laughed in the middle of her order. "No chores, that's right! Charlie, go start the wash, dear."  
Charlie got up, leaving Ron alone in the kitchen with his mum and a stove full of nearly done food. Ron stared at the table, trying to imagine Hogwarts. He'd seen the scarlet train, steaming away down the tracks. He'd run through the barrier, holding his Mum's hand.  
"Ronald, come get your plate," Mrs. Weasley finally stopped cooking. "I'll go wake Ginny and Percy." She went up the stairs, and Ron started to devour his eggs. In this mass of food, all thoughts of Hogwarts left his mind.  
"Ah," Charlie entered again. He fixed himself a plate, sitting down beside Ron. Ron went for seconds when Mrs. Weasley came back down the stairs, Ginny at her heels.  
"Oh, pancakes, my favorite!" Ginny grabbed a plateful of food. For a girl, she ate quite a bit, but never gained an ounce. "Thanks Mum!"  
"Ah, my letter," Percy put on his glasses, entering the kitchen. He carefully opened his envelope. A red and gold badge with a huge P on it fluttered to the table. "I'm a Prefect."  
"A Prefect!" Mrs. Weasley dropped everything she'd been doing. She ran over, squeezing Percy to death. "Oh! The second Prefect in our family!"  
"A Prefect?" Ron frowned. Mrs. Weasley ignored him, fawning over Percy. She declared how they'd buy him an owl, new robes, and lots of new books! Ron's jaw dropped. "Mum . . ."  
"What did I hear?" Fred and George, covered in dirt, came into the kitchen. Ron was never so happy to see his brothers. "A Prickfect?"  
"Fred!" Mrs. Weasley turned livid at her son's joke. "Don't insult your brother! He's received an honor!"  
"What's Prefect?" Ron's question was heard this time.  
"It's like a house leader," Charlie explained. "There's a boy and girl Prefect for fifth and sixth years for each house. Bill was a Prefect, too."  
"Oh," Ron frowned. He didn't suppose he'd ever be a Prefect and get loads of new things. Mrs. Weasley went back to doting over Percy. Ron picked away at his breakfast, the feeling of being special at receiving his first letter gone. Percy the Prefect won the day with his good marks.  
"Fred, George, and R . . ." Mrs. Weasley stopped herself from ordering Ron again. "Go finish the garden, boys."  
"Ron," Ron stared up at Charlie. Charlie grinned down at his brother. "Come outside. I'll teach you how to ride my old broom. We need a fourth Weasley on the Quidditch team. Bigger honor than a Prefect any day."  
Ron grinned. He remembered Charlie had been amazing on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. His Mum treated him like she treated Percy. Thinking on that, she treated Bill that way, too.  
Ron dressed quickly in jeans and a T-shirt. He raced to the scraggly, damp grass that made up the Burrow's yard. Uncut and up to Ron's knees, the dew easily soaked his pants.  
"Okay, call your broom by saying up," Charlie placed the broom down in the grass. Ron frowned, calling on the broom. He screwed up his face, yelling louder when it didn't come.  
"Okay, I'll just get it for you," Charlie held out his hand. The broom slammed up in his palm. Charlie pushed it down, to about Ron's waist. "Okay, now, just put one leg over it."  
Ron did this, slipping a little because the broom was damp from the grass. Still, he got on, clutching the top tightly with both hands. "Good, now just kick off. Getting off the ground is important."  
Ron kicked off, hovering a few feet over the grass. Charlie nodded at Ron's altitude. "Aye, okay, now lean forward, and slowly glide over the grass." Ron leaned, and instead of slowing gliding, shot off. He zoomed like a rocket over towards the house. Realizing he was about to do an Errol, Ron pulled back on the broom handle.  
He stopped in mid-air, almost falling off. "Ron! Don't lean too hard!" Charlie ran over to where Ron stopped. "Okay, you didn't fall off. Try again. Lightly, very lightly, lean on the broom. Not too hard."  
"Okay." Lightly, Ron thought, barely pressing against the handle. Ron moved, slowing gliding over the damp grass. He grinned, realizing he was finally riding a broomstick!  
THUD! Ron lost his balance, landing stomach down in the wet grass. "Ow," Ron rubbed his head, trying to make the sparkling stars go away. "I finally fell off!"  
Ron blinked, recognizing loud laughter from his left. He looked up at Fred and George, grinning at each other. "You knocked me off!" Ron muttered. Fred and George nodded, agreeing that Ron was right about that.  
"You okay?" Charlie pushed them away, checking out Ron for broken bones. He searched, finding nothing broken, although Ron wasn't sure of that.  
"I don't think I can move," Ron groaned.  
"You better lay down. You've fallen twice today," Charlie grinned slightly. "Fred, nice toss."  
"Aye," Fred gave his brother a nod.  
"What did he throw?" Ron muttered at Charlie lifted him up, motion for George to help. He draped one of Ron's arms over his shoulder, while George draped the other arm over his shoulder.  
"A garden gnome," Fred followed behind them, grabbing the broom. "Mighty good aim, I might add. Didn't think the first one would hit you."  
As the reached the door, Fred and George went silent about the Ron whacking. Ron couldn't imagine what his Mum would do if she found out Fred hit him with a garden gnome. Fortunately, Mrs. Weasley was in some other part of the house, doing other chores.  
"Stay here till you feel better," Charlie laid Ron on his bed. He pulled up a chair, sitting down, staring at Ron's posters. "Fred, George, you better get out there. Mum might think something's up if you don't throw some more gnomes."  
"Mum will think something's up if we don't hurt Ron," Fred grinned. "She excepts that of us, you see."  
"We've got a reputation," George laughed as they headed down stairs. Ron groaned, thinking of all the terrible things they'd do to him at Hogwarts. Mum wouldn't be there to keep an eye on them. He imagined this pain, doubled, along with more dung bombs under the bed sheets.  
"Don't feel bad," Charlie stood up, after making sure Ron wasn't going to faint or anything. "Fred and George are beaters. It's their job to knock people of brooms."  
"I guess," Ron muttered. "I just wish I could fly better."  
"It's your first time, you'll do better later," Charlie shrugged. "Can't join to team until your second year, at least. You'll be decent by then."  
"If I make the team," Ron muttered. He didn't think, after today, that he'd make the team or be a Prefect. He didn't want to be like Percy, no, he just wanted new things. His Mum never doted on him.  
"You will. You'll up hold the Weasley name just fine," Charlie grinned. "You'll be in Gryffindor. You'll play Quidditch or be a Prefect. Make all sorts of trouble for the teachers, just like Bill, the twins, and me."  
"Maybe," Ron doubted it.  
"You don't have to be like Percy, though." Charlie winked, leaving Ron alone with his Chudly Cannon posters.  
  
(A/N: Hope you liked this one. I desperately want readers for this story. I'm actually rereading the books, cause I read them once, to write this. I'm reading other fics to see what people have already done, so I can make this as original as possible. Please review, thanks, MorganRay) 


	4. Mandy Brocklehurst

(Again, I own NONE of these characters. J.K. Rowling does. This is just a little spin on Ron's first letter.)

Chapter Three: No Chores

It was one of those mornings when the sun stayed behind a veil of gray clouds. However, it gave the day a misty, gray light to distinguish it from night. This morning, in a tiny room cramped full of Chudley Cannon posters, Ron Weasley rolled out of bed.

He belly smacked the floor, a pile of dirty socks dampening the thud. "Oh," Ron groaned. This was it, he'd really fallen off the broom! No, wait, Ron stood up realizing the dream. He'd had it thousands of times, falling off a broom, but he believed he'd really done it.

He'd never road a broom, so how could he fall off one? Hearing the call of his stomach, Ron lumbered down the crooked, uneven steps. He breathed deep the scent of sausage, pancakes, bacon, and eggs. This gave Ron the energy to run the whole way to the worn kitchen table. Charlie and the twins were awake, seated around the table, watching Mrs. Weasley cook.

"Morning," Charlie yawned as Ron pulled up a chair. He was visiting from Romania, which put Mrs. Weasley in a better mood, knowing her son was with her, not chasing dragons. "What part of the house fell in?"

"Fell out of bed," Ron yawned, running his fingers through messy, bright orange locks of hair.

"Did Ronny hurt himself?" Fred began to inspect Ron's elbow. "Ah, Mum, he bruised his arm! Call Saint Mungos!"

"Get off!" Ron said and pulled away as Fred and George burst into snickers.

"You should put up the levitating mattress again, Mum," George looked over at Ron with a wicked grin. "Remember the mattress, Ron?"

Ron groaned, remember Mum having fits about him. 'You're going to crack open your head!' she'd yell. So, the mattress was laid on the floor beside the bed. When he rolled out, it'd bounce him into the air.

"And you'd wake up," George smirked. "And start balling because you were in mid-air!"

"Yeah, and I'd always have to put you back on the ground," Charlie laughed. "You used that until last year, huh, Ron?"

"I thought ickle Ron was becoming a big boy?" Fred chuckled messed up Ron's already messy hair.

"He is," Mrs. Weasley replied from the stove. "He's stopped wetting the bed three years ago. Cleans better house than either of you boys."

"Ronnie is so feminine," Fred chortled and began to wipe the table with the bottom of his shirt. Ron punched his brother on the shoulder. Suddenly, something tickled Ron's feet, something tickled up his ankle!

"Spider!" Ron shouted and jumped on the chair. Fred and George howled. Charlie stepped on the tiny daddy log leg. Ron flushed red, crawling off the chair.

"Ronald, honestly, it's as big as a pinkie nail," Mrs. Weasley said and kept cooking all the while. "Fred! George! This early? Don't give me a headache before noon today."

"Gotta get started early, Mum," Fred said as hetipped back in his chair. "Aye, George?"

"Aye," George mimicked his brother's motions. They both leaned back on two chair legs, letting the kitchen have a few moments rest. That is, until a loud thud on the window made Ron start.

"Errol," Charlie walked outside, collecting the scrawny, disheveled owl from the ground. "Hey, this worthless bird brought something worthwhile."

"Hogwarts!" Fred and George shouted and grabbed their letters, popping them open. "Ah, the usual blah, blah, blah, but Mum, they added some new books. Probably a new teacher again."

"Aye," Charlie nodded, sitting down, placing Percy's letter across the table. Ron noticed one more left in his hand. His eyes widened, realizing it was his first Hogwart's letter!

"Mine!" Ron's squeak made Mrs. Weasley look up. Charlie grinned as Ron ripped the paper into more pieces than either Fred or George.

"Bless me, it is about time," Mrs. Weasley smiled at her littlest son. "Ronny, you're growing up so fast."

"Ah, you never say we're growing up at all," George grinned. "I think she's implying something, Fred."

"Time you should start," Mrs. Weasley sighed at her twin sons. She kept her eyes on Ron as he read the letter several times, to make sure it was real.

"Mum, I'm going!" Ron never remembered feeling happier. He'd watched all his brothers go to Hogwarts. He endured them blabbering about it, taunting him with how great the grand hall and the Quidditch teams were.

"Of course you're going," Mrs. Weasley started to cook again. "No chores today, since it's your first letter."

"Weasley tradition," Charlie nodded at his little brother. His eyes spaced out, and Ron watched as he grinned, reminiscing about his times at Hogwarts. "You'll make the Weasley name proud."

"Fred, he'll probably be in Gryffindor," George frowned at his brother. "You realize we'll have another family twit on our hands?"

"I'm not a twit!" Ron yelped. The twins nodded in unison.

"He won't pass the test to get in," Fred whispered to George so no one else could hear them. "Half our class couldn't get past that blasted troll."

"Tr . . ."

"Fred! George! Quite mumbling about all the trouble you're going to cause!" Mrs. Weasley kept cooking away, sorting through the rest of the mail at the same time. "Go get rid of those garden gnomes!"

"Mum," George groaned. They both stood up, walking out to the garden. Ron could still feel his heart beating too hard. A troll! How was he supposed to face a troll? Oh course, it was Fred and George who said this, but they whispered it!

"Ron, how about, oh," Mrs. Weasley laughed in the middle of her order. "No chores, that's right! Charlie, go start the wash, dear."

Charlie got up, leaving Ron alone in the kitchen with his mum and a stove full of nearly done food. Ron stared at the table, trying to imagine Hogwarts. He'd seen the scarlet train, steaming away down the tracks. He'd run through the barrier, holding his Mum's hand.

"Ronald, come get your plate," Mrs. Weasley finally stopped cooking. "I'll go wake Ginny and Percy." She went up the stairs, and Ron started to devour his eggs. In this mass of food, all thoughts of Hogwarts left his mind.

"Ah," Charlie entered again. He fixed himself a plate, sitting down beside Ron. Ron went for seconds when Mrs. Weasley came back down the stairs, Ginny at her heels.

"Oh, pancakes, my favorite!" Ginny grabbed a plateful of food. For a girl, she ate quite a bit, but never gained an ounce. "Thanks Mum!"

"Ah, my letter," Percy put on his glasses, entering the kitchen. He carefully opened his envelope. A red and gold badge with a huge P on it fluttered to the table. "I'm a Prefect."

"A Prefect!" Mrs. Weasley dropped everything she'd been doing. She ran over, squeezing Percy to death. "Oh! The second Prefect in our family!"

"A Prefect?" Ron frowned. Mrs. Weasley ignored him, fawning over Percy. She declared how they'd buy him an owl, new robes, and lots of new books! Ron's jaw dropped. "Mum . . ."

"What did I hear?" Fred and George, covered in dirt, came into the kitchen. Ron was never so happy to see his brothers. "A Prickfect?"

"Fred!" Mrs. Weasley turned livid at her son's joke. "Don't insult your brother! He's received an honor!"

"What's a Prefect?" Ron's question was heard this time.

"It's like a house leader," Charlie explained. "There's a boy and girl Prefect for fifth and sixth years for each house. Bill was a Prefect, too."

"Oh," Ron frowned. He didn't suppose he'd ever be a Prefect and get loads of new things. Mrs. Weasley went back to doting over Percy. Ron picked away at his breakfast, the feeling of being special at receiving his first letter gone. Percy the Prefect won the day with his good marks.

"Fred, George, and R . . ." Mrs. Weasley stopped herself from ordering Ron again. "Go finish the garden, boys."

"Ron," Ron stared up at Charlie. Charlie grinned down at his brother. "Come outside. I'll teach you how to ride my old broom. We need a fourth Weasley on the Quidditch team. Bigger honor than a Prefect any day."

Ron grinned. He remembered Charlie had been amazing on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. His Mum treated him like she treated Percy. Thinking on that, she treated Bill that way, too.

Ron dressed quickly in jeans and a T-shirt. He raced to the scraggly, damp grass that made up the Burrow's yard. Uncut and up to Ron's knees, the dew easily soaked his pants.

"Okay, call your broom by saying up," Charlie placed the broom down in the grass. Ron frowned, calling on the broom. He screwed up his face, yelling louder when it didn't come.

"Okay, I'll just get it for you," Charlie held out his hand. The broom slammed up in his palm. Charlie pushed it down, to about Ron's waist. "Okay, now, just put one leg over it."

Ron did this, slipping a little because the broom was damp from the grass. Still, he got on, clutching the top tightly with both hands. "Good, now just kick off. Getting off the ground is important."

Ron kicked off, hovering a few feet over the grass. Charlie nodded at Ron's altitude. "Aye, okay, now lean forward, and slowly glide over the grass." Ron leaned, and instead of slowing gliding, shot off. He zoomed like a rocket over towards the house. Realizing he was about to do an Errol, Ron pulled back on the broom handle.

He stopped in mid-air, almost falling off. "Ron! Don't lean too hard!" Charlie ran over to where Ron stopped. "Okay, you didn't fall off. Try again. Lightly, very lightly, lean on the broom. Not too hard."

"Okay." Lightly, Ron thought, barely pressing against the handle. Ron moved, slowing gliding over the damp grass. He grinned, realizing he was finally riding a broomstick!

THUD! Ron lost his balance, landing stomach down in the wet grass. "Ow," Ron rubbed his head, trying to make the sparkling stars go away. "I finally fell off!"

Ron blinked, recognizing loud laughter from his left. He looked up at Fred and George, grinning at each other. "You knocked me off!" Ron muttered. Fred and George nodded, agreeing that Ron was right about that.

"You okay?" Charlie pushed them away, checking out Ron for broken bones. He searched, finding nothing broken, although Ron wasn't sure of that.

"I don't think I can move," Ron groaned.

"You better lay down. You've fallen twice today," Charlie grinned slightly. "Fred, nice toss."

"Aye," Fred gave his brother a nod.

"What did he throw?" Ron muttered at Charlie lifted him up, motion for George to help. He draped one of Ron's arms over his shoulder, while George draped the other arm over his shoulder.

"A garden gnome," Fred followed behind them, grabbing the broom. "Mighty good aim, I might add. Didn't think the first one would hit you."

As the reached the door, Fred and George went silent about the Ron whacking. Ron couldn't imagine what his Mum would do if she found out Fred hit him with a garden gnome. Fortunately, Mrs. Weasley was in some other part of the house, doing other chores.

"Stay here till you feel better," Charlie laid Ron on his bed. He pulled up a chair, sitting down, staring at Ron's posters. "Fred, George, you better get out there. Mum might think something's up if you don't throw some more gnomes."

"Mum will think something's up if we don't hurt Ron," Fred grinned. "She excepts that of us, you see."

"We've got a reputation," George laughed as they headed down stairs. Ron groaned, thinking of all the terrible things they'd do to him at Hogwarts. Mum wouldn't be there to keep an eye on them. He imagined this pain, doubled, along with more dung bombs under the bed sheets.

"Don't feel bad," Charlie stood up, after making sure Ron wasn't going to faint or anything. "Fred and George are beaters. It's their job to knock people of brooms."

"I guess," Ron muttered. "I just wish I could fly better."

"It's your first time, you'll do better later," Charlie shrugged. "Can't join to team until your second year, at least. You'll be decent by then."

"If I make the team," Ron muttered. He didn't think, after today, that he'd make the team or be a Prefect. He didn't want to be like Percy, no, he just wanted new things. His Mum never doted on him.

"You will. You'll up hold the Weasley name just fine," Charlie grinned. "You'll be in Gryffindor. You'll play Quidditch or be a Prefect. Make all sorts of trouble for the teachers, just like Bill, the twins, and me."

"Maybe," Ron doubted it.

"You don't have to be like Percy, though." Charlie winked, leaving Ron alone with his Chudly Cannon posters.

(A/N: Hope you liked this one. I desperately want readers for this story. I'm actually rereading the books, cause I read them once, to write this. I'm reading other fics to see what people have already done, so I can make this as original as possible. Please review, thanks, MorganRay)


	5. Return Home

Chapter Five: A Return Home

"Aye, that was a waste of time. We were there an entire day," Ron grumbled as he opened up his newly packed trunk. They'd gone to the burrow, after only a day in Grimmauld Place because now, after Sirious's death, they weren't sure the house was safe.

"All that packing wasn't useless," Hermione said calmly as she dutifullly cleaned Ron's poster clad room. "You do need to clean up after yourself."

"I hope Harry's in a good mood when he gets here," Ron muttered as he stopped Hermione from going through his drawers. She glared at him, before resigning to just dust and straight things outside of Ron's personal drawer spaces.

"Hmm," Hermione replied. Yes, honestly, she couldn't agree more with Ron. When they had left Harry at the end of their fifth year, he'd been irritable and extremely moody. Part of Hermione couldn't blame him, going through all that emotional shock. Still, she wished he would've been a little more open and mature about the situation.

"You know, though, I like this place much better than that stuffy house," Ron was, as Hermione knew, referring to Grimmauld Place. "Glad to be gone."

"Me too," Hermione said, just thankful to be with Ron and her friends. She become friends with Ginny. She found getting to hang around with another girl as much as she hung around with Harry and Ron enjoyable, except during their once a month moody spells.

"Blimely, I'm so hungry!" Ron complained again about being hungry. Hermione rolled her eyes, passing his a candy bar on his pillow. Ron opened the wrapper hastily and went to take a bite.

"What's that smell?" Hermione gagged and sprinted across the room to throw open a window. Ron wretched almost instantly, and Hermione did the same. Ron grabbed the noxious candy bar, chucking it outside.

"Ron?" Hermione said tensely as she gazed dagger at her friend. "What was that?"

"Fred and George's," Ron moaned as he held up the wrapper. "Should have known."

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Choking Chocolate. Guaranteed to cause one person to loose their lunch. Great family gifts," Hermione read part of the torn wrapper. Ron groaned, recalling the first time he'd smelled something like that.

The day before September First was sunny and bright. The vibrant light glared against the shop windows in Diagon Alley. The rough, red cobblestones caused the feet of those who trod the Alley to step unevenly. People shielded their eyes with hands and hats from the glaring sun. Worse, early afternoon, when the sun turns people to lobsters, had come about.

Standing in the middle of the street, sweat drenching his robe, stood little Ron Weasley. Ron wished for the thousandth time he had money to buy a sundy or a milkshake. Bloody anything cold would do.

"Ron," Fred shouted. Ron moved in a couple stumbling steps as his sleeve was tugged. Fred dragged his younger brother out of the middle of the street into the brightly-lit Quidditch shop. Fred and George began to point out stuff to each other, talking about the Quidditch team.

Ron, however, turned gazing at the shiny broom hanging above the counter, carefully guarded by spells and glass. An identical one sat in the window. Ron leaned on the counter, along with many others, gazing numbly at the Nimbus Two Thousand. "Beautiful," Ron felt something like a religious experience.

"Aye, fine broom," Fred came up behind Ron. "Blimey, I want one."

"If you get one, so do I," George stood level with his twin. The three went into a reverend silence before the expensive broom. Ron finally took his turn to break it. "Lets go, maybe get the school books,' Ron couldnt have sounded any more unenthusiastic.

"Why?" Fred leaned against the counter with Ron. Ron hated that smirk. "Cause Mum wanted us to?"

"Yeah," Ron regretted having to spend the day with the twins. He wanted to go to Hogwarts so bad, and Fred and Georges teasing and agitating him. On the bright side, he wasnt with his Mum, Dad, and sister, fawning over Percy.

"We'll get the stuff later," George took his spot on the counter opposite of Ron. Again, Ron got that identical smirk. "Does little Ronny want to be like big brother Percy?"

"No," Ron groaned in earnest. If there was just one brother he would prefer not to be anything like, except maybe a Prefect, it was Percy. He certainly never wanted to boss anyone around like that. On the other hand, is that what it took to be a Prefect?

"Stop gawking unless youre buyin boys," a heavy set old man shoed the three boys away from the counter. They reluctantly left the store, all of them regretting not going out with a Nimbus Two Thousand.

"What now?" Fred turned to his twin. "This tis a boring day."

"Yes, tis," George said as he nodded and gazed around the crowded street. Ron rubbed his already sweaty forehead on his sleeve.

"Can we get something to eat?" Ron moaned. He was royally hungry, now, too, but he doubted Fred and George would get him food. He took their snorts as a no.

"Watch," George whispered as he dropped something disgusting in a caldron for sale. Ron winced at the smell as they passed, suddenly not feeling so hungry. Behind him, he heard a couple people vomit, which gave him the urge to vomit himself.

"Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley gasped as she turned the corner to see her youngest son retching into another caldron. Fred and George tried desperately to suppress their snickers, secretly overjoyed they made even Ron loose his stomach.

"Sorry, Mum, bad smell," Ron muttered, sitting upright again. He hurriedly got away from the smelly caldron, obediently going with his Mum to get books and other school supplies.

A/N: Hey! It's me back again with this story. I know they don't go to Grimmauld Place before their sixth year, but forgive me for starting this story before July 16, 2005. Again, don't own any characters here. Please give comments on what would make this story better. Thanks, MorganRay.

P.S. I Beta read, if anyone is interested. Most of the fanfics I follow seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth right now.


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